"Greg."
He came awake all at once as he felt a hand on his shoulder and sat up with a jerk. "What? What's wrong?"
"Nothing." He looked around, his eyes coming to rest on Izzy. She was crouched before him, the others moving around in the background behind her.
He let out his breath slowly. "Good news?"
"Yes." She paused. "Well, sort of."
He groaned and let her help him to his feet. Everyone seemed to be preparing to leave. Greg checked his mission clock and saw that he'd been asleep for about two and a half hours. Great. Another two and a half hours swallowed by the inevitable march of time, chopping down a timeline that was already tight enough to begin with. He groaned quietly as he stretched, popping a few of his stiff joints. Sleeping on the floor sucked.
"Where are we at?" he asked.
"They found it," Izzy said. "That's all Gibson said."
"What, literally just 'we found it'?"
"Well, technically he said, 'we found it, we're working on a way to deal with it, I've sent the nav point to your pilot, get your asses in the air'. I think he was annoyed because you were asleep. Man, you were out of it," Izzy replied.
He sighed. "I still feel out of it. I'm exhausted." He shook his head. "But we all are. Yeah, let's get going."
Forty five minutes later, after a few unsuccessful attempts to get more information out of Gibson, who promised he'd give him all the relevant data when they were on the ground, their Pelican was coming in for a landing in a relatively flat field of ice that sat in the shadow of a large mound of frozen earth that rose hundreds and hundreds of feet into the dark gray sky. They landed among a dozen other Pelicans at the edge of a makeshift command camp. Studying it as they came in for a landing, he could still see smoke rising from blackened earth all along the edges and realized that they'd firebombed a good portion of the area at some point.
There was still a lot of fighting going on along the perimeter of the camp as Flood attempted to overrun it.
But there were hundreds upon hundreds of personnel moving among the tents and prefab structures that had been erected, and the sight warmed his heart.
Breaker set them down and then killed the engine. Greg got up, weariness finally beginning to fade away, replaced by adrenaline yet again. He opened up the back ramp and found himself facing two figures, waiting for them. One was a young, anxious-looking Private, the other was…
"Gibson! Son of a bitch, you're here?" Greg asked, oddly heartened to see the man in the flesh. Honestly, he thought he would only remain a voice over the radio for the rest of his time on Wintermute, one way or another.
Gibson offered a grim, tired grin. "In the flesh," he said. "I figured I might as well show up for the big event. Good to see you, Walker. All of you."
"Master Sergeant," Izzy replied.
Greg felt a sudden anxiety and embarrassment as he heard her say that and straightened up a little bit. "Master Sergeant," he said.
Gibson laughed. "At ease." He looked at Turner. "Doctor, you've done your duty and now it's time to get you off the field and, hopefully, off the planet. If you'll go along with Private Nichols here, he'll get you to a Pelican that will take you to safety."
She nodded and then turned to face Greg and the others. "I wanted to thank all of you for saving my life. So, thank you. It was appreciated."
"Happy to have been of service, Doctor Turner. Good luck," Greg replied.
She nodded once and joined the young Private, who led her away, towards another Pelican. Gibson glanced behind Greg as Breaker walked down the ramp. "Think my bird needs some rest," he said, coming to stand with them, "some of the readings were getting weird."
Gibson nodded. "We'll have people check her over. You can get something to eat and rest there," he replied, pointing to a nearby tent.
"Thanks." He looked at the group. "Whatever it is you're doing, good luck. I don't know if we'll run into each other again before this mess is over."
"Thanks for the rides," Greg replied, shaking the man's hand when it was offered.
Breaker left them standing with Gibson.
"All right, come on, follow me," the Master Sergeant said, his expression growing more serious. He turned and began walking into the busy encampment. Greg and the others followed after him, and they immediately became engulfed in the atmosphere of a forward operating base in the midst of a bad warzone. The paths that had been created between rows of tents and makeshift structures were now turned to mud and slush from dozens, if not hundreds, of passing feet. Everything had a very rushed feel to it, people unloading crates or hastily sorting and organizing all manner of weapons, gear, and military tech.
Food tents, sleep quarters, medical bays, everything was being quickly erected by terse military personnel in muddy snow camo. The sound of battle rifles, assault rifles, and chainguns firing in the distance was almost constant as the Flood in the area, which Greg surmised were largely spilling out of the mound like a stream of angry ants from an anthill, tried to defend their territory. The hill rose into the dead gray skies, looming over them like an ominous sentinel or an ancient, baleful God attempting to eradicate the non-believers.
"Here," Gibson said, and turned into a square tent that held a pair of foldout tables shoved together in the center. The tables held a mobile holographic projector. A few technicians were working on it silently and intensely.
"So what's the situation?" Greg asked.
Gibson sighed and sealed off the tent behind the group once they were all inside. "We're in a bit deep," he said. "It's not hopeless, but it's...difficult. In short, the Proto-Gravemind is inside that mound. It's a mining installation."
"I knew it," Izzy muttered. "Damn things were dug up."
"Yes, that's what we now know. The installation broke into a cavern holding...well, suffice to say it had Flood, there was a containment breach, and now we have the lovely situation that we find ourselves in. But the Proto-Gravemind is in there, buried a solid half-mile underground. Right now, our best solution is to get some nukes inside of the installation and mining tunnels themselves, fall back, and blow the entire place to hell."
"And you want us to deliver a nuke," Greg murmured.
"Yes. We managed to get our hands on three HAVOKs. Based on maps we have of the tunnels, we've come up with three best viable locations. You...have the most dangerous job."
Izzy sighed. "Of course we do."
"Got it," one of the techs said suddenly, and the projector flickered to life. A 3D image of the mound, shot through with a number of tunnels and chambers, appeared in the air over it.
"Excellent. Head out and see where else you're needed," Gibson said.
They responded affirmatively and left the tent.
Gibson pointed to the biggest, most obvious entrance to the mound. "This is the natural entrance to the installation. Presently, we're mounting a massive assault on it. I've committed over half the forces I could gather to it. I'm hoping it will draw as much of the Flood out of the tunnels as possible. Ostensibly, they're going to plant one of the HAVOKs inside the installation, but distraction is their main goal." He pointed to another, smaller tunnel on the eastern side of the mound. "Here's the secondary entrance. I've got another team of a dozen and a half personnel delivering a second HAVOK there, at a critical juncture that should help demolish a good portion of the mound. Finally, there's this entrance."
His finger went up the southern side of the mound, to a much smaller entrance about a hundred meters up the side of it. "This is where your team enters."
"Why there?" Greg asked.
"This entrance is out of the way and has the benefit of ultimately linking with a tram system that can take you down into the deepest part of the installation." He traced a path through several different chambers and tunnels, ultimately stopping at one tunnel that went directly over a huge chamber in the lowest part of the image. "This chamber is where the Proto-Gravemind is. We want to be goddamn sure we get it, so you'll be bringing your HAVOK to the big bastard itself."
"What actually is a HAVOK?" Rydell asked.
"Tactical thermonuclear weapon. Thirty megaton yield," Greg murmured as he stared at the holographic display.
"Jesus, and we're putting three of them down there?" Rydell replied.
"Ideally, yes," Gibson replied. "Just remember: typical response to the Flood by the Covenant is to glass the planet. So this isn't overkill, and this is the only way to buy us enough time to get most of the people offworld."
Greg looked at the rest of his team. "Just gonna ask this one more time: anyone want out? Because this is...a lot. We've got no idea what we'll be facing in there and I'm sure Gibson could use help holding this place."
"He has a point," Gibson said. "If you want to switch roles, last chance is now. Because we're launching this mission now."
"I'm in, obviously," Izzy said.
"I'm going," Laney said.
"Same," Ellis said.
"I've made it this far," Baranov said, "might as well keep going."
"Aw hell, can't duck out now," Rydell replied. "I'm good to go."
"Excellent," Greg said. "Thank you, everyone, for coming." He frowned and looked at Gibson. "Six is a little light though, for a mission like this, I have to admit."
"I know. I've got another two ready to go with you," Gibson replied. "And I know, eight isn't exactly great either, but shit, we're stretched to our absolute limits. Between rescue and evacuation efforts across the planet, holding this camp, and the other two assaults going on right now...this is it, Walker. Literally."
"I understand," he said.
"Come on. We can at least get you better equipped."
Gibson led them out of the tent, back out into the cold. They moved through the base, past the makeshift structures and dozens of Marines and technicians moving about, unpacking or repairing or building, all of them moving with a frenetic desperation. Greg knew how they felt. Their timeline was ticking down and every second brought them a little bit closer to doom. They reached another tent closer to the far left side of the encampment. Outside, he saw a pair of Snow Carrier Warthogs being worked on by a team of techs.
Inside the tent was an armory with another pair of Marines. They were both silently going over weapons with an air of intense scrutiny.
"Quick introductions," Gibson said, garnering their attention. "These are Lance Corporals Pollard and Halpert. They're both pretty tough and they both know the score."
Greg nodded to each of them.
Pollard looked like a typical resident Marine of Wintermute: fit, pale, competent. He seemed to move with an air of graveness more than calmness, his movements slow and measured. Halpert was a dark-skinned woman with a shaved head and the chilled efficiency of someone who had made being a Marine their life's mission and identity. She moved more briskly, assembling her arsenal with quick but smooth movements.
"Walker's in charge," Gibson said.
"Yes, Master Sergeant," they both replied.
"Good luck out there," Gibson said, looking at them all. "I've got to stay here and coordinate, make sure things get done. But...we're all counting on you."
"We'll get it done," Greg replied.
Gibson nodded once, stared at them all a moment longer, then left the tent.
"Get ready, grab whatever you need," Greg said as he moved over to the two latest additions to the team. "Welcome to Task Force Reaper."
"Glad to be here," Halpert replied, glancing up briefly.
"Yep, a real pleasure," Pollard muttered.
"You two gonna be ready for this? It's going to be bad in there, I imagine," Greg asked.
"I'm ready," Halpert replied. "I had to fight my way across half of Wintermute to get here. I've just been looking for a way to kill these things on a larger scale ever since they slaughtered my colony. So yeah, I'm ready."
Greg nodded. He believed her. "Pollard?"
He sighed. "Yeah, don't worry about me, I can get the job done. I'm just hoping this goes better than the last three times. Starting to feel like I'm cursed."
"What happened?"
"My initial Fireteam got ambushed by the Flood near the beginning of this whole mess. I was the sole survivor. Got away, managed to link up with another squad, we made it to a UNSC outpost only to find the place overrun. Whole other squad got slaughtered in our escape and I was the only survivor again. I made it to a more secure location, got put into another squad, we pulled a lot of search and rescue. One by one, they all died, and in the end, I found I was the sole survivor yet again."
"Know how you feel," Baranov muttered.
"I think there's been a lot of that going around," Greg said. He wanted to reassure the man, but what could he say that wasn't straight-up lying?
He had no idea what was waiting for them in there.
In the end, he just said, "We'll finish this out, one way or the other."
It was as much comfort as there was to be had in a situation like this, and Pollard seemed to know it. "Yeah," he said, and went back to prepping his gear.
They all got to work, moving around the interior of the makeshift structure, grabbing anything and everything that caught their fancy after taking the opportunity to swap out their armor sets. Though Greg felt better as he pulled on a fresh set of camo gear and Ballistics armor, he knew he was in sorry shape overall. He was exhausted, sore, bruised, battered, starving, and strained. He told himself that it was almost over, which, in a way, it was. One way or another, it would end soon. Either in his death, the death of the planet, or the death of the Flood.
Greg looked over the arsenal, over the people who had been put under his command, and then out the front opening, through which he could see the hill they had to ascend. With a soft sigh, he began gathering ammo.
The Warthogs got them most of the way there.
Once they were geared up, Task Force Reaper mounted up in the two vehicles and drove first away from and then around the battle that was taking place. They got to the other side of the hill and then began to drive up it, following the nav marker that was pulsing on their HUDs. No one spoke as they ascended, listening to the intense sounds of conflict fade away and the occasional status reports from the other two teams.
The terrain became too much for the Warthogs about twenty meters shy of the cave they were looking for.
"All right, everyone out. We'll walk from here," Greg said.
They all dismounted and checked their gear while also keeping an eye out for any Flood that might have tagged along or acting as a guard for the rear entrance. They saw nothing. Greg walked back to the rear of his own Carrier.
"Who's going to carry the bomb?" Izzy asked.
Greg had been considering that on the way up. "Laney," he said. "I want you to do it."
"Understood," Laney replied, stepping up and taking the HAVOK. It had been converted into basically a backpack nuke. From what Greg understood, it should be pretty durable. They didn't have to worry too much about it going off prematurely during combat.
Hopefully.
"Everyone ready?" Greg asked after he helped Laney secure the nuke. They all responded affirmatively. Greg dialed up Gibson as he started leading the way to the cave. "Gibson, this is Walker. We've arrived at the cave. We're heading in now. So far, so good."
"Roger that. Keep me appraised for as long as you can. Not sure how good the radio's going to be inside the mine."
"Understood. Out."
Greg and Izzy took point as they came up to the cave. It was a simple, innocuous opening in the side of the hill, leading to a downward slant into the rocky earth. Snow was falling silently and gently now, making for an eerie scene. They activated their flashlights and looked deeper into the cave. The light ran out a few dozen meters in.
There was nothing but rock and ice waiting for them.
"Let's do this," he said, and led them inside.
They entered the cave, swallowed by it one by one, until the entirety of the Task Force was heading into the earth. It was wide and tall enough that it wasn't claustrophobic, but Greg did not relish the thought of doing any kind of combat in here. He had his shotgun at the ready. It had served him well so far and he saw no reason to abandon it yet, but he had grabbed a few extras while they were in that armory.
He was hoping he wouldn't need them.
They walked through the sloping tunnel for a good quarter mile before reaching their first real destination. The sounds of the conflict died away completely as they reached the end of the tunnel, which looked like it had been just recently broken through, judging by the hastily erected support beams and dead work-lights around the threshold. They stepped into a large cavern that seemed to have been abruptly abandoned at one point.
"Secure the area," Greg said as he headed towards the tunnel that would take them to the tram they were hunting. He listened intently as he walked across the darkened cavern, the only light now being provided by their various flashlights. It caused the shadows to swing and sway, to grow and shrink, seeming like living things. He heard no growls, no muttering or shifting. No footfalls, nothing being disturbed, no gunshots in the distance.
Only a steady drip of water from somewhere.
Or what he hoped was water.
Izzy joined him at the entrance to the tunnel they sought.
"Still feels too easy, huh?" she murmured as they stared down it.
"Yeah," Greg replied.
She didn't seem to have a response to that, and they stood there in silence until the others came over, reporting that they were alone here.
"All right, we're almost to the tram. Once we get there it should be a relatively smooth ride down. From there, we go in, plant the bomb, get the hell out. Just...stay sharp." As they set off down the tunnel, he tried to reach out to Gibson, to give him a status report, but by now they were too deep in the rock to get a signal out.
Greg sighed softly and pressed on.
As they headed for the tram, he found himself thinking of everything that had led up to this point. It felt like a lifetime ago that he had been on a frozen island, searching derelict cabins and abandoned buildings, enduring snowstorms and wildlife with Izzy, kindling the beginnings of a real relationship with her.
Where would that go, if they made it out of this?
He was excited by the prospect that they might take it another step further. He'd never had what he would consider a great deal of luck when it came to women, but he felt something special with Izzy. Was that a result of their shared trauma on Wintermute? He couldn't know for sure, but he'd shared trauma with other women before, and this still fell different. Izzy just...fit with him, in a way he wasn't sure anyone else ever had.
Was that love?
Was there even room for such a thing in the hectic, horrifying galaxy they now found themselves living in?
He supposed they'd have to survive Wintermute before answering that particular question.
They reached the end of the tunnel a few minutes later and again ran into no opposition. As they found the tram and fired it up, Greg told himself that Gibson's plan was working. The Flood were just too busy elsewhere thanks to the attacks going on, leaving this forgotten space vulnerable. Despite that, the feeling of paranoia and anxiety were becoming downright oppressive. He pressed on, wanting this to be done and over with.
"How we looking?" he asked Izzy as she worked on bringing the tram online. It was a simple thing, just a single sealed cart that could seat a dozen at a stretch, with a conductor's section at the front of it, where Izzy currently was.
"Good, actually," she replied. "It's online, it's got juice, it says it can take us to where we want to go and that the track is intact."
"Then let's get going while we can, everyone onboard!" Greg called.
Task Force Reaper filed into the tram cart and Greg shut it behind them. Once everyone was seated in place, he had Izzy set them on their journey.
And so they plunged into the darkness one more time.